


Passing Through Fire

by FrumpkinFeyKing



Series: Caleb Widogast AU [1]
Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Ball Eater (Critical Role), Caleb Widogast-centric, Caleb never joined the group, Campaign 2 (Critical Role), Gen, Minor Spoilers, So much fire
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-29
Updated: 2020-04-29
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:07:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23913550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FrumpkinFeyKing/pseuds/FrumpkinFeyKing
Summary: AU! Campaign 2 - He found himself in that jail cell all alone. No friend to help him through. All that work that mysterious woman had done started to undo itself. He was lost and broken and alone. And his palms itched.
Series: Caleb Widogast AU [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2039954
Comments: 2
Kudos: 44





	Passing Through Fire

His palms started to itch. It’s how it always started, an itch, a scratch, a dig of the fingernails. He often let it simmer as long as he could bear, letting the itch fade into the dull thrum of his heartbeat. It had a burn to it, but no heat. He savored it, this heat that crawled up his arms and enveloped his shoulders like wings embedding themselves under his shoulder blades. It hurt, but it was good.

When it started to edge toward his chest, he would begin looking. Never for anything or anyone specific, but he always knew when he found it. The man who’d been too free with his hands at a tavern. The shop that smelled of sulfur. The crates of foreign objects and black powder that fed so gloriously on the magic he provided. They didn’t matter to him at the end of the day. He didn’t care. Scheiße, he didn’t think he could even if he wanted to. That part of him was gone or broken or lost, but it didn’t matter. 

He found himself at the coast again, cursing into the sea breeze. He hated it here. He felt exposed under the sun and warmth. People were always looking here, just looking to see what they could see, and he didn’t want that. He didn’t want to be seen. And though the ache had yet to finish its ascent of his arms, he needed to get out. He wanted to get back to the grime and shame and anonymity of the inland cities. He could hide there. He could fade away again. 

There was a boat, a ship. There was something triggering about it, but it didn’t immediately draw him in. And yet, it was the only thing in this town that had caught his eye so far, and he really wanted to leave. It wouldn’t be satisfying, he knew, but it would satiate long enough to slip back. And besides, it was bigger than anything he’d taken care of before. An ember puttered somewhere in his head and he found himself reaching for the book tucked under his arm instinctively. It wouldn’t be satisfying in the way the men with the cages had been or the tunnel leading outside Zadash. But he was curious.

His interest was peaked. It almost drowned out the sting. He was being rash and uncareful, but he was feeling reckless, excited even. Unused muscles in his cheeks twitched. He wasn’t paying attention. 

He walked openly to the end of the dock, despite the bright light of the moon easing away the night’s darkness. He looked to the middle of the deck and pulled his hands from his pockets. His skin was hot and the tips of his fingers twitched in anticipation. He stilled them before reaching into the small leather pouch on his hip. He took a bit of phosphorus and sprinkled a heavy dose into his palm. The red dust would stain his skin for a few days, he knew, but he liked the marks it left when infused with magic. He liked the reminder. Turning back to the ship, he drew up his other hand to squelch the dust across his palm, his fingers pointing along the gaze of his eyes.

White flames leapt forth like angry will-o’-wisps from the crossing of his hands. They shot through the air, darkening to yellow to orange to red, before erupting in a massive wall of fire across the deck of the ship. A thick wave of molten heat roars out, passing across his unmoving face. The flames clamored over themselves, licking higher and higher into the cold night air. There was a moment of pride at this perfect blaze bisecting the ship, but he wasn’t done.

He knelt to the ground, reaching for one of his books this time. He moved quickly, barely opening it to pull out the cat’s cradle he had pressed between the pages. Bits of salt and phosphorus crumbled from the crusty string as he slammed it into the planks of the dock. A ring of flame spun to encircle his form, flirting with the frayed edges of his coat before snaking out as if following five invisible fuses across the ship. They seemed to disappear for but a moment, and then five columns of white, hot, raging fire shot up as if summoned straight from the Nine Hells. 

He kneeled there on the dock before the groaning, burning ship in a pocket of light. A drop of sweat hit the back of his left hand and sizzled on contact. His eyes stung and his throat felt scratched though he hadn’t spoken aloud in days. The ship was now entirely engulfed in flames. The moaning wood and the roaring fire deafened the night. He heard no screams or shouts from within the flames and he breathed out shakily. No people, das war gut. It would have been a waste. 

The sudden rush that always accompanied the use of magic, especially new magic, vanished just as quick as it had come. The familiar hollowness now took root within his chest. He stood slowly, tucking his book away again. His shoulders, which had been pulled back by the taught strings of flame beneath his skin, now slumped forward as he turned to walk back into the night. 

He made it far enough to an alley before the shouts started. His knees buckled as he heard the thundering of footsteps running across wood. Fingernails cracked against brick as he pulled himself along the wall, further and further into the dark. He just needed to get far enough away that he could sit for a moment. He was so tired.

It felt like hours but he finally reached a corner well populated with barrels and crates and burlap sacks with what he hoped was mud smeared across them. He let his legs give out and crawled the rest of the way to tuck himself away. His fingers were numb but he managed a soundless snap as he clenched his eyes shut and shoved his head between his knees. 

It wasn’t long before soft fur pushed against the skin that poked through the wrappings on his arms. Frumpkin was silent but he could feel the vibrations of his purrs as the cat paced in front of him. When his breathing had slowed and the hole in his gut no longer felt as if it would swallow him whole, he unfurled his limbs just enough to let Frumpkin crawl into his lap. His eyes threatened to shut on their own accord, but he kept them open as he reached for a few burlap sacks to fend off the cold. No, not mud. Scheiße.

*****

Streets away a motley crew of adventures stood and watched their ship burn. They didn’t speak, not until a low drawl broke the silence.

“We’re going to find who did this.” Fjord narrowed his eyes, letting this last image sear into his memory. He may have hated that his friends had named it the Ball Eater, but hell, this was his ship. He nudged Beau as he began to walk away back to the Lavish Chateau. “No one messes with the Mighty.”

Beau turned to follow, leading the rest of the group after Fjord and mumbling under her breath.

“We really need to come up with a better name for ourselves.”


End file.
